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Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow—
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream:
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand—
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep
While I weep—while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
I'm not a
"hopeless romantic,"
I am simply
romantically hopeless.
The one that send you cards, flowers and more.
I am he.
The man who  writes poem after poem of his love.
Yes, I am he.

Who brings you breakfast?
Who makes YOU bath water?
I am he.

Certain men know when they are blessed.
And just that alone makes them give their best.

Yes, I am he.
Who apologize for nothing?
If it's connected to giving you the best of my love.

When your friends describes the guy of their dreams?
Slightly mention me.
I am he.
Only big difference is,  I'm taken.
A man you proudly call yours.
Splendid was the thunderous night
Of stormy lightening serenade
With cold feet shivering in fright
Dismayed you, all afraid

Begged of me to walk closer
And make you feel at ease
Unaware innocently how
Passion in night frees.

We walked some distance, hand in hand
Drenched in blessed rain fall
Forgotten is the fear of storm
As love came on prowl.

As storm poured and doused the earth
Until late in the night
Kindled on dimly lit streets
Keen desire to unite.

Suddenly we halt, with eyes locked
Sensing a sweet fragrance,
Hearing our heavy breathing
Acceding to closing distance.

Never learnt how hands toured north
And reached our faces
In heavy rains what wet our lips
Were those passionate kisses.

Gradually the sweetness grew
Entangling us in embrace
Ironically a gloomy storm
bestowed us divine grace.
July 1st 2014
It all started,
It will end.
Ink will run out,
But the message will always send.

Broken heart,
Words will mend.
Stopping bad habits,
Good ones will come.
It's only begun,
You are never done.

Your on your 16th chapter,
Why stop now?
Stand up and scream,
Don't take that final bow.

You still have the chance to change things,
Everyone does.
Some won't be so lucky,
They just need their rest.

It's not for the worst,
Everything is for the best.
About carrying I  with life and not giving up, you made it this far, keep on going
Habia una mujer con ojos verdes, y gordura llanura de echos satisfactorios, que la dictadura de sus piernas y la tentaculidad de sus manos decian poco y mas, que era lo que buscaba en un legendario metro de cabildo a recoleta, sus sabidas manos eran como las ojas de las ramas que recolectaba cada dañado dia en un barco al lado de su casa, y al regresar de una oracion con su fe y su dios que era la caminata a una civilizacion aceptable, copias de rupturas espaciales la reflejavan y la movian hacia una originalidad, era politecnica incorporable en sus hombros.
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